Suture
by Cannibal Jello
Summary: Updated w/news on 1/20
1. The beginning of the end

Title: Suture

Author: cannibaljello@yahoo.com

Rating: R for violence and strong language. Possible adult themes later on.

Disclaimer: I do not own Capcom or anything from the biohazard/resident evil series. No profit is made from this fic. I don't take credit from any S.D. Perrys novels either.

Notes: Had this sitting around on my little laptop for some time now. I finally have the patience to deal with ff.net and their formatting bullshit. Anyways, I like Billy. He's neato and I'm disappointed in the lack of fics with him in 'em. Yeah, well…time to eat sushi. Enjoy.

---

Billy Coen was alone. 

It was his pair of feet stepping over fallen branches and leafs, snapping and breaking. He no longer stood by Rebecca Chambers, the young S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team member. Billy was completely alone, surrounded by the over whelming scenery of Raccoon forest, as he had been for quite some time now.

The ex-lieutenant, charged with the murder of 23 people was bothered by something. What, he didn't know for sure. No, it wasn't the fact that his life had taken a drastic change in the past few hours, that he now had to question everything and reality itself. 

Billy didn't think that it had anything to do with the knowledge that he could have been dead two times by now. Either by the death sentence the courts had scheduled for him or at the hands of the terrible monsters that lurked on the train and the mansion.

No, something just felt wrong, different. Billy's slightly callused hand reached up and gently searched for the cold metal that once hung from around his neck. His hand caught air. The dog tags that had spent so long against his skin had vanished. 

_That's right. She took it. _

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ms. Chambers had, with a surprisingly gentle tug of an impossibly small hand, pulled his dog tags from right beneath his nose, so to speak.

The image came flashing back, the fairly short woman bringing the chain over her head, sun shining warmly against their skin. As the metal fell against her body, it had caught the rays with a flash of fire.

But now she was gone, heading to that mansion and god knows what was in it. For all they knew, it could be crawling with zombies and those mutant bugs just like the other had. It could be worse; Rebecca could already be dead—

—_Stop thinking that way! She's strong, smart, and the other S.T.A.R.S. would be there with her._

Still, he was worried and regretted not following her. After he had handed over everything but two clips for his handgun, they had departed. It had been a short, bland farewell. Billy wished he could have said, done more…

__

You could still turn back. You've walked maybe three miles from that point. There's always a possibility that you could catch up with her—

—_Except those three miles had been down hill. Yup, just hike back up there at a full sprint and track her down through acres of forest. Sounds like a wonderful plan!_

Billy scoffed at the sarcastic voice nagging in his head. He had never been known as the optimistic type by any means, but this was damn near pathetic.

For what seemed like hours Billy traveled through the lush Raccoon forest, twigs snapping and dry leafs crunching beneath his boots, birds calling from every which way. It would have been peaceful at one time of his life, being completely surrounded by nature. But after what had happened, the terrible images that haunted his mind took complete hold of him…

…_The things that had once been human, the zombies. Reaching out, moaning for your blood and flesh as they stared at you with their cataract eyes, the scent of death radiating off of them in thick, noxious waves_—

__

—_You would shoot, the bullets ripping through their rotting bodies. But they kept coming, shambling and bleeding. A walking virus. And once they where down, once you thought that you could kill something that was already deceased, they would pop back up and attack as you stepped over their putrid body._

With their bony, skeletal fingers, flaky skin falling from the bone they would grab your foot and pull it towards their mouth. Like they needed to feed, like it would help them regain or heal the lives that they had lost—

—And the sight of their teeth, some gone, others threatening to break off once they sunk into your flesh. Stained with blood. The bloated, swollen, purple tongue quivering with excitement—

Shaking his head, Billy tried to dislodge the troublesome thoughts from his mind. He rubbed at his temples with a gentle, circular motion. It was late; he was tired and sore. Billy noticed, with a frown, that his feet where throbbing, a dull, burning ache. Apparently the boots had been wearing the heels of his feet raw.

Sighing, he continued his trek through the trees, stepping over broken branches and rock. Billy closed his eyes, legs and feet still working. It felt so good to rest his eyes that it almost _hurt_, his lids refusing to open for a minute or so. His mind began racing again.

_Zombie humans, dogs, birds, oh my! And don't forget those leech- things._

Billy shuddered, thinking about his first encounter with them. Technically it wasn't _his_ encounter, but he had been there.

_Hanging out at the bottom of the stairs, bored as hell. I had dropped the idea to Rebecca that we should work together but she insisted rather kindly that she didn't want my help. So she went on ahead without me. Brave little girl, working for the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, fighting for justice, freedom, and the American way…_

I had been checking my ammo, filling a few spent clips with a loose box of bullets I had stumbled across. Just as I slapped a fresh clip home, I heard a scream. So I charged up the steps, looking to play hero. You know, save the pretty girl, blah blah. 

When I had hit the top step, I saw it. There was a man—_no not a man_—_a _thing_ in a humanoid shape. Rebecca was fumbling to reload her gun—it was quite obvious that she was a rookie—when the thing's head split in half. From its body these slug things, leeches, came swarming out and towards Rebecca. _

At the time I had just been staring with disbelief, but when they completely covered her I sprang into action. With two shots, they fell from her petite form. Still looking for a fight, two jumped for me. After I had disposed of them, the leeches fled.

Rebecca hadn't been harmed, which had filled Billy with an awkward relief. She had given him a slightly moody thumbs-up. With a smirk, he had kneeled down next to her, hearing a gentle singing from beyond the train.

_There was that weird guy wearing a white robe, the guy who turned into the "queen" just before our escape. Talk about multipersonalities. He was that old dude too. Marcus something, or something Marcus. Doesn't matter anymore, he's gone. _

Billy stopped for a moment, finally opening his eyes. What if he _didn't _die? Could he have somehow survived? It didn't seem likely…

_…But stranger things have happened. Like this whole day. Talk about weird, this tops my chart as the Ten Most Fucked Up Times of My Life. And didn't the guy die _before_ it all took place?_

A faint sound pulled Billy out of his uneasy thoughts, something very familiar, and very, very welcomed. The thrum of a car's engine. There had to be a road near by, he realized and began running towards the sound. 

When he emerged from a lush bush, he could see it. A long, winding road. There was a sharp turn to the left. Hopefully he had beaten the vehicle, his once ticket out to the real world. And he saw, with a relieved sigh and a jump of his heart, that he had as a sleek, black limousine rounded the corner. That had to be the last thing he had expected to see.

__

I'll take anything I can get my hands on thank you very much.

Raising his arms, he waved frantically, relief sweeping through him as the vehicle slowed to a stop just a few feet away. It was very expensive, the windows tinted pitch black like the rest of it. When Billy stepped up to one of the back doorways, he could see his own reflection like on an ocean of onyx. Billy quickly shrugged off a few leafs that had stuck to him.

The window rolled down, revealing a plush leather interior. Who ever the man was seated in the back was, he had taste. 

"Sir, do you need a lift?" Billy nodded, studying him. His black eyes glittered bright with humor and intelligence, like a joke had been told and only he understood it. Matching his irises, he had dark hair that was neatly trimmed. A smile curled his lips. The stranger had to be near his forties.

"Yes, may I?" Billy tried his best at being polite and respectful. But he felt stupid doing it, getting the impression that the man certainly wouldn't mind if he acted any other way. 

"Certainly." The man, whose name he didn't know yet, popped the door open.

Once he was inside, Billy sank down into the leather seats, his sore muscles jolting with pain. With a small nod from the man Billy sat across from, the car began to move again, the forest swimming past them. He noticed vaguely that a trench coat had been draped across a few seats.

"You look as though you've had a hard day," His savior chuckled lightly, looking at him. 

"You wouldn't believe how right you are," Billy sighed, running a heavy hand through his hair. His gaze met the man's and he could tell by the way his eyes where slightly narrowed that he was being sized up. 

"So, ah, Mr…" Billy began but stopped when he realized that he didn't know the kind mans name. He was grinning like a shark now, it seemed that every tooth was showing. And this alone made Billy deeply uneasy. Billy began to wonder if he would have been better off on foot.

"Excuse my manners, please. My name is Trent." 


	2. A mysterious benefactor

Notes: ahh now I feel like a blonde. While continuing on this story, I discovered that I had already finished the second chapter and I was near completing the third. Hah Stupid me. There is so much more I'd like to say but I'm limited on time. You see, my laptop (the comp I write on) is having difficulties. It keeps freezing whenever I try to save anything. Gah this sucks, I won't get the chance to post chapter 3 until I fix this.

Any ways, I must apologize to those who expected Rebecca sooner. I take my time in my stories, and im sorry to say that she wont see Billy for quite some time now. I'm just not like the many others here who rush into stories. Not that that's a bad thing, no, it must be better than dragging the same shit out for chapters. Yeah, gotta hurry…

Keep in mind that this is my first non-real person fic, and my third ever. The other two were for a band and were written years ago. Ok, that's it. Chapter 3 soon, I hope. Sorry for the short chapters ^^;

The man, Trent leaned forward smoothly, extending his hand in a business like matter. His fingers were long, thin and pale. Almost skeletal. Billy hesitated for a short moment: his grimy, oily hands utterly dirty. But Trent seemed to understand, nodding towards his out thrust palm. He took it and the two men exchanged a brisk handshake.

"Pleasure to meet you." Trent said calmly, withdrawing his hand. Billy decided to follow suit, watching as the man pulled a dark cloth from his pocket and began cleaning each individual finger. For the first time Billy noticed a large and very expensive looking ring on his right hand. The black rock, which was believed to be onyx or something similar, shone in the light sifting between the ocean of trees.

There was a moment of awkward silence, Billy feeling a trickle of sweat paving down the back of his neck and wetting his matted hair. Trent seemed to ponder for a moment, his eyes burning a hole through bone, sinew and flesh. His eyes were staring, as if expecting something…

"Oh god I haven't introduced myself yet," Billy said with an embarrassed laugh as Trent smiled once more. His mind began racing.

__

I can't tell him my real name, need to make an alias. He'll call the cops, surely the news is out now that ex-lieutenant Billy Coen, charged with the murder of 23 people is out on the loose. If I get caught now, then all of this will be for nothing. But what to use? What to use— 

"Names Edward Winston," He uttered, using the name of his childhood buddy. It was the first thing that came to mind, and Trent seemed to except it, nodding slightly. For a moment, he did nothing. And then he reached forward, nimble fingers hitting a button on the small panel behind the limos divider. A black tinted window rose up, cutting off the person behind the wheel.

Billy squirmed slightly in his seat, a rush of bitter nervousness leaking into his gut. For the first time, it became clear that the law enforcements would have a picture of him on file and had sent it to every paper on the stand.

_He knows. I'm in it deep now. I should have never entered this car, now he'll call for help and _oh shit_ how'd I get into this mess—_

"So Mr. Winston, what brings you to the middle of this fair forest?" Trent's musical voice breaking through his thoughts like the voice of reasoning. Humor lingered in his words as it did in his eyes. 

_What in the hell is this guy so happy about?_

"Got lost." Billy replied gruffly, running a heavy hand through his damp hair. That did in fact have some truth to it. He was lost and had no where to go.

__

Just a rat in an endless maze…

"Ah, I see. And in such a dangerous place…Edward, did you just so happen to run into any monsters out there?" His words hooked Billy's attention. Trent's grin grew wider if possible, and his eyes glittered once more. Billy's mind grasped for something to say, _anything_ to say, but he drew in a blank. Trent was amused.

"I know who you are, Lieutenant Coen, and I know what you've experienced."


	3. Questioning Reality

Notes: Look, we're finally getting somewhere! :D 

This may be my last chapter for a while. Still having problems with this bloody piece of machinery. 

And I must tell you this: I have problems writing the beginning of a story. Yeah, I always write in the order of middle, end, beginning. I already have a few chapters of the middle scribbled down. For some reason I always do that. Eeep. I'm trying to hard to write in order now and its driving me crazy. X_x

Yeeeeeeah. So any ways, this chapter is worse than the others, it's mostly conversation, and I DESPISE writing convos. I just suck at it. This is to just let you know before hand. I had to struggle with each sentence I swear. Tell me how I did PLEASE. I need some reassurance before I can continue hehe.

To DreamThief: Yeah I prefer Billy WAY over Steve. At least Billy seems mature enough, and handles himself well despite Mr. Nut who overreacts over every little thing. Maybe I'm being harsh on Steve, I don't know but gah he's a horrible character. Guess he's to ga--err femmy for my tastes. Sorry Steve fans. As for Billy, I think he's my favorite character at the moment. : )

Questions or comments: try catching me on Yahoo (I warn you now that I forget to log in half the time. You may just catch me on a good day.) cannibal_jello@yahoo.com. I'd give my MSN IM s/n out but its kinda private. Talk to me over yahoo, and if ya don't freak me out I'll add you.

And hey, this chapters a little longer (I think). 

With a jerk of metal from beneath the waste band of his jeans, the shining metal of Billy's 9mm reflects the suns light. The deadly weapons mark is aimed directly at Mr. Trent's chest.

__

Click.

"I don't know _who_ or _what_ you think you are, but let's get one thing straight: I'm not interested in your intents, ok? And I don't feel the need to stay any longer. So if you'd please tell your driver to bring the vehicle to a stop, I'd be more than happy to leave." Billy growled, studying the man. His posture hadn't changed a fraction. Come to think of it, neither had his eyes; the man still seemed so _happy_. 

__

Why? He's locked in the car with a man whose been charged with the murder of 23 people—_what in the hell does he have to be _happy _about? This is no ordinary man I'm dealing with…_

"Mr. Coen, I recommend that you holster your weapon. I am no threat to you." Mr. Trent says, his musical voice as low and calm as his mutual expression.

"Oh, really?" The younger one asks warily, narrowing his eyes. This man didn't _seem_ threatening but still… 

"Yes. I'm…a _friend_ to those like you." He replied, blind to the gun aimed at his chest. Trent gazed at him impassively, his eyes glittering with a cool self-assurance that almost frightened Billy. It was as if he either did care…

__

…Or he's a complete nut. Yep, this guy isn't the brightest crayon in the box.

But he _was_ bright, in fact. Only a completely arrogant one could mistake the pure intelligence behind the amused expression. In his experience, Billy believed that the ones who laughed were the most dangerous. And at least partially insane.

"Like me?" Billy wondered aloud, weapon lowering to his side slowly.

"I just want you to trust me." The other states simply, running a hand through his short black hair.

"Why should I?" He challenges, sliding his gun back into hiding.

"You'll know soon enough." 

There was a moment of silence; the only sound being that of the limousine's wheels riding over the hard road of gravel that paved the winding forest road. It was a road that seemed to spread out forever, or at least one longer than Billy felt comfortable following. That is now, actually. He would have found the serene lush forest comforting at any other time, with the birds twittering in the trees above. But now, now there was nothing but the man who sat across from him.

The quiet was killing him.

"Mr. Trent—"

"Just Trent," The man interrupted, motioning for his guest to continue. Billy hesitated at first, but plunged forward soon enough.

"If you haven't all ready noticed, I'm kinda in a tight place in my life right now and I don't need your fucking riddles to make it any worse. You can just take your shit and go find someone else to go do your work—whatever it is."

Trent stared at him for a short moment and sighed. "Ah, you see, that may be a little hard to do. Not everyone is as eligible as you, Mr. Coen. They haven't seen nor lived through what you have…"

"Then tell me, what exactly do you want me to do?" Billy questioned, crossing his arms against his chest tightly and in a somewhat arrogant matter.

"Help us see to the eradication of Umbrella."

"Us?" Billy repeated. A hint or sarcasm came from his mouth, "You and what army?"

"Oh, no army Mr. Coen. Just a small handful of soldiers that are on the run from life just as you are. Except they have found something useful to accomplish in their lives, a concrete goal, and have fought for the people, the innocents who are being murdered by the thousands beneath Umbrellas hands." A thoughtful pause but Trent continued. "Lieutenant, I know that's what you despise most, to see innocent ones die. Mothers, children, men who have served the country as you have. You know first hand what a horror that is, am I right?" Billy nodded numbly, Trent's dark eyes locked on him. And for a moment those dark eyes were laced with sympathy, telling Billy that he knew understood. Billy felt deeply uneasy.

"But you can finally do something to prevent this—" 

Now it was Billy's turn to interrupt. 

"No, you're wrong. How can I stop a whole multibillion-dollar company when I couldn't even stop three men? It would be suicide. I'm not as strong as you believe me to be." Billy's own words tore at his flesh like fire, singeing and melting. He began again, a tone of interest dripping into his words. "Besides, what good could a 'handful of soldiers' do? I want to know more, what are their backgrounds like? What experiences to they have?"

Trent chuckled slightly, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in his clothing. His eyes did, indeed see more that Billy's ever could.

"Ah, the typical marine. Wanting to know all the facts, so on and so forth. Keep this in mind Lieutenant, that I will never give you all of the facts like you demand. It is necessary that you put the pieces together yourself. What I can tell you is little: they have encountered what you have before and maybe worse. But all of them have potential. Just as you do." 

Billy sat there under Trent's relentless gaze, feeling his anger boil away to nothing. The man was right and he knew it. There was nothing that Billy could say; his throat seemed to be lined with cement. 

Reaching forward, Trent took hold of his trench coat and slid a pale hand into one of the many pockets. While Billy watched tensely, he withdrew a large manila envelope.

"Consider this a little gift from me to you." He paused as Billy gingerly reached for the package and took it into his hands before he continued. "If you wisely come to the decision that you will except my offer, well, let's just say that you will need all the help that you can get." Billy glanced up from the paper he had received and gave Trent a questioning glance before the vehicle slowed to a halt. Sometime during their long conversation, Billy hadn't been aware that they had entered the city.

"Ah and so our time together must end…" Trent flashed a smile that quickly melted away beneath his serious expression. All twinkle had vanished from his dark eyes. "But I assure you, Mr. Coen, that you're journey has not." Billy jumped slightly as the door at his side was opened, fresh air and bright light invading the dark innards of the limousine. The driver stood outside, holding the door. Past that stood a grand building, the roof piercing the sky. A hotel it was, and a very, _very _expensive one at that.

"Holy sh—" Billy began, looking at Trent who sat the impassively.

"Nice isn't it? I hope you enjoy your stay. Everything is set up, the bills are paid in advance, and all paperwork is finished. And I also assume you know how to use a key…?" Trent mused, nodding towards the keycard that is offered to Billy. 

"Err, yeah…thanks." He replies oddly, taking the warm plastic from the others grasp. Nimbly, he slid it into his back pocket. With that, he steps out of the car, suddenly feeling as if he had been awoken from a dream.

"I hope you consider my offer Lieutenant," That smooth voice says at his back. "I will contact you when the time is right. I do hope you know your answer by then." 

__

No dream, this is reality. Or is it?

"Oh, and one more thing Mr. Coen," His _friend _begins once more, humor evident in his low voice. "I would refrain from using the name Edward Winston. It doesn't suit you." A smirk forms on Billy's lips.

"Well then what does Trent?" He chuckles as a mean of comeback. But he receives no answer.

"Trent?" Billy repeats, looking back.

Trent was gone. 


	4. Toying with the Borderline

_ Coldness, pain, motion, but Billy couldn't see what was happening-couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't do anything. Unable to even breathe, his lungs closing in on themselves, aching deep inside of his chest. I'm drowning,_ he realized in his haze_. This is how I'm going to die-___

_ And pain! Shrieking pain as his body was slammed into something solid and rough, ripping the small amount of air that he had from his lungs with a flash of nausea. Unconsciously held on to whatever it was, gripping skin being torn to raw flesh_-__

_ And the force_-_insistent pushing, driving daggers of liquid ice into his flesh as an amazing power tried to rip him through the barrier he had met. Roaring of waves in his ears, body shuddered and groaned from the force trying to pull him down into the raging waves of onyx._

_ Suddenly_-_CRASH! A sensation of pure weightlessness as his numb body was propelled into the air by a fleshy snout. There was a fresh waft of an animal odor, damp and musky but it vanished as soon as it had appeared-_and he was falling, back into oblivion.__

_ Sputtering, gasping for sweet oxygen, head above the ocean of freezing water he cried, seeing light for a moment, and then a terrible blackness. SLAM! His body made contact with something, what he didn't know at the time but the screaming discomfort that followed threatened to steal the last ounce of life in his battered form. _

_ He felt like a mannequin, his body at mercy to the water_-_not water_-_ liquid ice dancing about him. His strings were there somewhere, being carried along the currents and he couldn't find them. He couldn't do anything as the waves toyed with him, tossing him this way and that. He had no idea where the river of darkness was dragging him…_

_ What he did know was that he hurt everywhere at once. He felt sick, the constant throb in his head giving him the urge to vomit. And there was a terrible, bitter taste in his mouth, a sort of chemical liquid and he didn't know…didn't know…_

-_and he was drowning, drowning because there's nothing but chilled water in this empty darkness. There was no air, and he's dying, the ice and liquid washing through his system, his lungs, his body--numbing, killing-___

-_no, can't breathe-___

-_let me-___

-_let me live!-___

Billy woke up with a start; eyes wide and searching. He could feel his skin, clammy and damp beneath the sticky sheets. His heart beat in his ears at a manic pace, reassuring him that he was still amongst the living, that it had been a dream and nothing more… 

"Shit," He breathed, body going limp once more, muscles stiff and sore. Rays of light shone through the room, peeking between the drawn curtains signaling that it was, in fact, a new day. Billy shifted slightly, ignoring the pounding of his head and squinted at the clock mounted on the far wall.

_6 AM? What's the date? I could have gladly slept for days…_

No such luck for Billy. Sighing, he stood up and ran a heavy hand through his damp locks. His matted hair was dank and greasy. It was no wonder that Billy's next destination was the shower. 

On his way there, he checked both the lock on the door and windows. Even with his handgun sitting on the bedside table, he didn't feel completely safe. And that was the exact way he should feel, Billy nodded inwardly. While people felt at ease, there were dangers lurking around every corner, problems and such that most would overlook, traps that they could fall into while they least expected...

_Oh stop being paranoid. You're just rattled. It's not every day that someone sees zombies, giant bugs and killer insects. Not to mention evasive Mr. Trent. He's creepy in his own little way. Speaking of our little friend, he said he would contact me. _

_ Just how will he do that exactly? He doesn't seem like the type to just come knocking at the door_-_but he does __know what room I'm in. No, he seems like a phone call kinda guy. And just when exactly is Trent planning to ring?_

Billy's gaze captures the plain looking phone sitting just inches away from his grasp, the pale plastic machine sitting on the bedside table. He half expected it to ring right then and there, but the chime never came. 

_Tough luck for him if I miss his call, I guess._

The soft patter of the water droplets falling from the showerhead and onto the hard linoleum was soothing to Billy as he stripped down to completely bare; he hadn't bothered to remove any items besides his shoes the night before in his excitement to finally rest, before he studied himself in the mirror.

There was a man standing there, his skin a pasty white with purple lines of exhaustion painted below his eyes. 

That wasn't the only purple though; other places speckled his flesh, accompanied by yellows, greens and angry reds. A dark blotch of a bruise ran just below the elbow of his right arm, blending through the thick lines of charcoal black. It might have been part of the tattoo once, if the classy lines had been against a background.

Those dark eyes were alost the same though, with the hardened features of a man who had seen too much violence and death in his life. It was a trait that all government dogs had, and one that Billy wasn't proud to wear.

But beyond that there _was_ something new, shone by the way the light glinted from his iris. A swimming disbelief, unsure like a lost soul, aimlessly floating around searching for something. Possibly the truth? Was there even a single truth to be discovered? Billy longed to know.

_And that's why you're taking Trent up on his offer. I need to know what in the hells going on in this world, and Trent seems like the perfect person to tell me. If I give him my cooperation, he should give in return, right?_

Sighing, he turned away from the scene and stepped to the shower, his naked feet slapping against the cold tile mutedly. One the curtain was pulled aside, a scorching warmed spilled down his chilled body, creating a stinging affect to every nerve. 

That didn't hurt though; compared to when the clean water came in contact with the various scrapes and cuts that littered his flesh. It was enough to make Billy grit his teeth and lean back away from the stream, eventually relaxing beneath it after a while. From there on, it was heaven.

He had almost forgotten what truly clean felt like, but the memories flooded back as the dirt and grime washed away. The air was tinged with a soapy aroma, cleansing his senses. Billy almost felt like he was a new person after that, but he only wished that he was. Anyone but him...

_Ring. Ring._

The phone called from beyond the shower, so sudden that his hand slapped the knobs on instinct, stopping the rain. Billy was jerked away from his trouble-nearing thoughts as he groped for a towel. A frustrated growl when his hand caught only air, the throaty sound only stopping when he felt soft cotton. With a yank it fell from the pole it had been resting on and curled around at Billy's hip, where it was knotted before he ran for the phone.

_Ring. Ring-___

"Trent?" Billy gasped, trying to steady his breathing and the pound of his worried heart when he was met with silence. But then, Trent was there, his musical voice spilling into Billy's awaiting ear.

"Ah, Mr. Coen! I was concerned that you wouldn't pick up. I thought that the zombies might have gotten to you." Trent paused, cueing Billy to answer. If that was a joke, Billy wasn't laughing. 

"You just so happened to catch me at a bad time. I was in the shower." 

"My apologies Lieutenant. I have a habit of doing such things." Whatever that meant, Billy didn't know. In stead, he waited for Trent to continue onto more serious matters. And the man did just that, or he would have, if not for a sudden rap at the door. Billy jumped.

"Mr. Coen, would you be so kind as to answering your door? I believe I just heard a knock." That low voice says, showing no signs of humor like it did previously. 

"What lies beyond it may be quite useful to you." Trent continues, ever so politely. Billy's uncertain gaze locks onto the door, standing completely still and silent across the room.

_ He's so damn confident, so sure of everything..._

_ ...and that's exactly why your doing this! You want to know why, don't you Billy? You want to know what makes mysterious Trent tick..._

_Anything could be behind it for all he knew: a bomb, some shooter waiting for him to step out into the open so he could take him out-_

The 9mm sat silently on the counter, its sleek exterior glinting in the light seeping through the window. When Billy grasped it, the metal felt cold and slightly sticky, and his skin damp against it. He set the phone down, leaving Trent momentarily.

Foot over foot, he slid to the door, gun at his side, muscles tense and alert. The knob on the entrance is also wet. Billy breathes out, slowly turning it, ear pressed against the door listening for the revealing whisper of cloth-

-and whips the gun out and around as it opens-

-there's nothing. No man waiting just around the corner, no sniper on the premises. Nothing but the motionless, decorative hallway with few doors speckling the walls. He breathes in relief, an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.

Wait, there was something. Billy lowers the gun to his side, studying a small, full looking bag lying at his feet. It just sat there, still and quiet.

_Isn't that what a box is suppose to do? Yeah, it's supposed to dance. Dance box, dance!_

Shaking his head at his own sarcastic mind, Billy reached for the box. It was quite heavy, but he managed to carry it back into the hotel room with one hand. Settling it on the bed, he locked the door behind him and walked to it. On the way, he retrieved the phone, laying the weapon in its place.

There was a moment of silence on the other line, but Trents low voice sounded soon enough, with a question that drug a hook through Billy's mind:

"Do you really believe that I would set you up, Mr. Coen?" Trent wonders aloud to Billy.

"N-no..." He stutters, tightening the damp towel around his waist once more.

"Ah, I understand," The other man begins again. "You're just being careful, watching your step. Good boy; you may just live through this after all. Not that I doubt your talents, Billy."

_ What exactly does that __mean?_

Again he speaks, "It won't kill you to open the bag." A note of frustration creeps into Trents voice, but Billy got the impression that it was only that way because he wanted it to be. So, he obeys the mans wish. His hands take hold of either side of the bag and pull, revealing some folded, crisp shirts above a pile of pants. Clothing his size, wait-

_ My size? How exactly does he know that much about me? _

"Trent, how do you know...?" Billy was interrupted in mid-sentence by that musical voice. 

"Let's not waste our precious time with petty questions Lieutenant. The clock is ticking, and we have very important business to discuss."


	5. Moving Onwards towards destiny

Notes from the author: Gah finished with this chapter! It took me two days, one to sketch out the order and another to write it down in my notebook and then type. Wow I feel like I accomplished so much in these days. : ) 

I even finished chapter 6 (but I still need to type it) and wheee I'm tired now. I was off today (friday,1/24) and I guess i made pretty good use of my time. I guess this also helped me keep my mind off things. Just a day ago I had a death in the family, and thats what spurred me to get my creative juices pumping. So, enjoy! Please do, you may not get more from me for a bit. AND! I would like to ask if anyone would be interested in beta reading my next chapter. I was a little weird writing it, and although I'm not sure I will actually need someone to read it, I'd like to keep the option open. You can tell me in a review (wink wink, hint hint) if you'd like to. Until then, onward!

--

It was late. The sun was swept away by the dark clouds of night. Even in his window seat, Billy could see nothing beyond the thick glass. The protruding wing of the aircraft had been swallowed by the black. There was no moon that night, no grinning man in the sky. Billy frowned, wondering if there was anything to smile at now. He didn't believe so...

After lowering the panel on the charcoal canvas, Billy dug through the small backpack he had carried on. That was the only bag of three he had access to. In one lay his new clothing; neatly folded and organized. His gun, along with the envelope of crisp bills were stored within the second. At last was the one he grasped now and deep inside the manila envelope was kept. 

Releasing it from its tight confines, Billy opened it once more, causing the stiff material to make a dull crackling sound. This disrupted the smooth, constant hum of the airliners engine. The other passengers were unaffected-most of them were dozing soundly. Only a few dim night-lights flickered in the cabin and soon enough his own joined them, casting a sheepish glow over his form. 

Billy could recall a few of the papers from the ride to the airport, having skimmed through them to fend off conversation with the taxi driver. Trent had warned him to be all around careful; to avoid talking when possible. Billy agreed, too worried that a citizen would see the lie behind his words. He locked what he knew deep down inside, where they had been resting until this very moment. Now the jumbled puzzle pieces went free; searching and longing to find a conclusion. 

And what else had Trent informed him about? Billy frowned, leaning his head back slightly, skull rolling to look at the passed out man at his side. Trent's words stroked his mind.

"Raccoon City is a very dangerous place," He had said. "Though it won't be for much longer."

Even until this moment, Billy hadn't known what to make of it. He longed to share his knowledge with anyone, curious as to if they had anything to add and possibly fill in the numerous blanks to the story. But yet, he refused to do so. It was necessary to hide. Umbrella had ears all around and if someone held in their pocket caught word of damaging suspicions-

The papers in his hands were smooth and dry; the aroma of dry ink lingering into Billy's senses. In the package had been various articles; bits and pages of local reports. Some had been from witnesses of the rumored nocturnal canines who had been stalking throughout Raccoon Forest. Only Billy knew the truth behind their words. No matter how farfetched the rambling peoples beliefs had been, no one knew the merit to them. 

One report had made Billy bite his tongue and let out a well-needed sigh of relief. The Spencer's mansion, hidden far within the boundaries of the forest had been destroyed. According to the press, the Umbrella owned V.I.P. resort had been shut down for years, closed after the disappearance of the famous architect George Trevor. But there was more.

The Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. were the victims of the tale. One reporter wrote about suspected "illegal drug used among the armed group." She believed that such an irresponsible action had been the cause of a helicopter crash that had killed six out of the eleven members. Billy knew better; he had witnessed the death of some and it was at the hands of Umbrella. The S.T.A.R.S. were wrongly accused.

Below one brightly colored photo was a single paragraph that filled him with assurance. There, it named the survivors. Amongst that list was Rebecca Chambers. And although Billy didn't know the others, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Barry Burton, and Brad Vickers, he believed them to be as innocent as she. And just as strong.

While the Raccoon City Police Department backstabbed and betrayed their loyal employees, the small but persistent bunch spoke of a vast Conspiracy. But in the who in the right frame of mind would believed that the Umbrella Corporation, the multibillion dollar business responsible for building up Raccoons fair city would be committing such crimes? No one would.

Apparently biological testing, resulting in cannibal humans, mutant creatures, and man slaughtering weapons is too far fetched for the public. They wouldn't know, they haven't experienced such things. And those who have are aware that it is only the tip of the iceberg. 

The S.T.A.R.S. had been suspended shortly after the incident.

Weeks later, several attacks occurred, keeping the same profile as the previous murders. Billy could _feel_ it, he _knew what Trent's words meant now. The virus was spreading, multiplying throughout the people, and soon it would be too late. No one could prevent what was happening, not even-_

Somewhere behind him, a shuddering cough. There was a force pressed against the seat, a shuffling sound of movement as the chairs inhabitance shifted position. In his concentrated studies, Billy jumped, startled. The papers in his sweaty palms crumbled as he jerked to slip them away. His heart was thumping inside of his temples-racing, pulsing-bile rising slowly up his throat in fear-

-And the moving stopped. Everything seemed to freeze then, slowly melting back into reality. The jets cabin was alive once more, dimly lit and warm.

_Calm down, stay cool. Billy uttered in his mind. The stress he had been put under had apparently taken its toll on his nerves. He no longer felt total control over himself. For a few drawn out moment, Billy tried to collect himself. He tried desperately to still his racing head, holding it in a deadlock for quite some time, becoming a single mass of bone and skin. Nothing more. Once his eyes close, Billy's other senses heighten; the smells, tastes, sounds, and touches seem as if they are the only existence._

The dry fabric of the plane seat felt cool beneath his feverish skin, the soft press of cotton soothing in some way. And past that, the smell of leather lingers through the air, coming from a mans newly purchased briefcase perhaps? Billy didn't know. Inhaling the dark, musky fumes triggered his imagination, creating a story full of details-all but sight. Maybe like a book? A dull story that yes, had descriptions, but didn't quite paint a world. Like the one a nearby passenger was flipping through; the sliding sound of pages being turned were all too evident.

_...And if you don't follow suit, you'll never get through all those documents Trent gave you. Don't be caught with your head up your ass! Have to make a good impression on the team if we're going to be working together._

Trent had set everything up. He was assigning him to one of the teams. Billy was scheduled to meet them in Exeter, Maine, his destination for this flight. And even though he was given no clue as to whom the others identities were, Trent had assured Billy that he would be very pleased with the results. Trent even mentioned that they would find _him_. Billy had been very skeptical at first but decided to wait and see the outcome of this-Trent had become a very reliable source- and held his questions in. Trent only gave what he offered. Nothing more.

Eyes fluttering open, Billy sifted through the papers again, coming up with the third document. It appeared to be a list of people.

JACOB FISCH, TIFFANY HOLCOM, BRUCE LINDEMANN, WILLIAM BIRKIN, ALAINA CROOGER.

None of the names were familiar to Billy, at least not at the moment. At some time, Billy believed, all the bits of information would come together. Now was not that time.

Behind this was a folded piece, creased into sections. Once recovered, it appeared to be a map. DIRKIN VALLEY was at the top, scripted in bold, blocky letters. In a similar type at the bottom it read: UMB. RESEARCH AND TESTING.

Trents map was sketchy, locating every different structure of the facility. For instance, to the north was a helipad and down the hall from it was an elevator bank, holding five in all. Two on the east and exactly west from that, two more. In the room's center, an emergency elevator was marked. There seemed to be two or three stories to the facility, keeping the bottom two, built deep under the grounds surface, save out of site. Billy stashed Trent's maps away for later study.

There had been five documents in the package, and it was the fifth that he now skimmed through. At first glance, it seemed like jumbled information and phrases, but it only took Billy a moment to realize that it had to be some sort of riddle.

Think things twice/Those who seem weak are anything but/red key makes blue/blue to enter/don't stop/he's watching you.

The last section sent a chill through Billy's spine, leaving him with an uncomfortable tingle near the base of his throat. But that was all. And he was tired. The papers were soon folded crisply as they had been, and stored back inside of the manila envelope. From then on, Billy slept, wondering it this would be his last chance to dream...


End file.
